Driving Thoughts
by Sir Zephyr
Summary: Harry is returning from his sixth and final year at Hogwarts, and he reflects on the year's events. MAJOR HBP spoilers. Rated for minor language by Uncle Vernon. My first fanfic and oneshot so please RandR


My first fan-fic/one-shot, so I hope you like it. Well, I think of it as a prologue to Deathly Hallows, as it summarizes the events of Half-Blood Prince (spoilers in here so watcher) and explains what Harry's thinking and planning to do. Please review, as I really don't know how good or bad it is, seeing as I'm an author and am inclined to think my writing's good regardless of how it really is . This is kind of like my trial run with to get used to the process exc., so not all of my stories will be like this, and they won't all be Harry Potter fanfics (though I intend to write more). Anyway, I'm rating it K+ because of some brief language by Uncle Vernon, but it's really nothing. No shipping here so relax yourselves. Also, for the record, I don't claim to own Harry Potter or any related places, events, or characters.

Thanks,

Sir Zephyr

**Drive-by Thoughts**

Harry sauntered out of the bustling Kings Cross Station, cradling his owl, Hedwig, sleeping serenely in her cage, in his arms and lugging his trunk full of spell books and parchment behind him. He moved briskly, not quite meeting the eye of passerby, who obviously found a sixteen-year old boy carrying a snowy owl in England in the middle of the summer odd, for many people stopped and stared over at him curiously.

This attributed to Harry's quick movement, for shuffling him out was a disgruntled Vernon Dursley, followed quickly by his wife Petunia and their porky son, Dudley. Vernon loathed his nephew's magical ability, feeling it separated him from the rest of the crowd, something the Dursleys simply couldn't have. So for the first ten years of Harry's life, they had done all they could to prevent Harry from ever knowing of his family, of his mother, who Petunia, her sister, had called "a freak". Their attempts proved useless, however, as, sure enough, on Harry's eleventh birthday, came a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Through a series of mishaps, and Vernon's failed attempts of keeping Harry from the truth, Rebeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, came and told Harry about his place in the Wizarding World – as the Boy Who Lived, the one and only person to have ever survived a killing curse, and who was thought to have put Lord Voldemort out for good. Shielded from his fame for his safety against Voldemort's loyal followers, the Death Eaters, as well as for his own good, Harry began his seven-year stay at Hogwarts.

Harry was now one year away from completing his magical education, having just finished his sixth year at Hogwarts. As far as he was concerned, however, he was, indeed, done with Hogwarts, with sitting quietly in class while the Second War raged around him…

Harry and the Dursleys stepped out onto the sidewalk and strode over to Vernon's car, parked on the curb. Petunia and Dudley opened the doors of the car and sat, Dudley shaking the car as he did so. Vernon, however, pointed his finger at Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and said, "Trunk." Harry obliged and popped the car's trunk open and placed his trunk and Hedwig, still snoozing, inside. He closed the trunk and turned again to face his uncle, who pointed unnecessarily to the back seat of the car and grunted, "In." Harry sidled into the car, trying to sit comfortably in the back seat, though Dudley had taken up most of the space with his wide girth.

The sun was peeking feebly behind the massive clouds as Harry stared out the window. The town showed the unmistakable signs of recent rain; puddles were littered up and down the streets and sidewalks, as people walked around them, carefully avoiding the water. And glancing at the sky, Harry could see it was about to rain again. He sighed and sat back in his seat, as Vernon began complaining about "those bloody tourists" in London and the "bloody traffic they made", as the traffic was indeed moving slowly.

Harry, however, wasn't listening to him. His thoughts were buzzing around in his head like an angry swarm of bees, and Harry began reliving the events of the year…

All that Dumbledore had said, about Voldemort's Horcruxes, about his childhood, it had amounted to nothing. Dumbledore was supposed to supply him with the knowledge to survive, but in chase of one of the pieces of Voldemort's soul, Dumbledore had left him more defenseless than ever…If only Dumbledore had listened to him about Snape, and about Malfoy's mission, he would still be here, to help him, to guide him in his mission to defeat Voldemort…but now, he was on his own…

The Dursley car stopped at an intersection, and Harry saw two adults, and man and woman, a dad and a mum, with a child between them, no older than three, dressed in a raincoat and galoshes, through his window. As they were walking down the sidewalk the three came to a puddle, and the adults, looking at each other, each placed an arm around the child and lifted him across the puddle, laughing as they did so. The child laughed too, and he eagerly tugged at his parents forward, perhaps urging them to hurry up and go somewhere, giggling all the while.

A warm feeling rose inside Harry's chest, but it was quickly snuffed out by a sudden realization; those Muggles, they didn't know anything…they didn't know Voldemort had returned, that they were in perhaps greater danger than witches and wizards themselves…Voldemort wasn't exactly fond of Muggle-born wizards and witches, much less Muggles themselves. The Death Eaters actions at the World Cup two years ago had reflected this, as Harry remembered the masked faces levitating Muggles thirty feet in the air, instigating a riot in the process.

Harry could not help but feel dampened by this sight as he remembered his own parents. His beautiful mother, with her long red hair and emerald green eyes; and his brave father, of whom he had always been told he looked, and even acted, like. He didn't have that kind of memory of them, and it was this that perhaps hurt him the most.

And yet something else was plaguing his mind, somehow darkening the scene around him. What it was, he couldn't say. He felt sad, yes, but something else….envy? Was he jealous of this family, whole and healthy, not a care in the world? That they, unlike him, would go home happy and content, not fearing what was in store for not only them, but others around them? He felt ashamed of himself for feeling so, but he couldn't help it.

Harry looked out the window as the car began moving again, watching the scenery flash by. He couldn't help but connect the passing scenery with people in his life, coming and going that fast, or so it seemed, anyway…His parents, for one, had come, and were struck down by Voldemort before Harry was even old enough to speak. And then Sirius, the closest thing to a father he'd known, had been imprisoned, first in Azkaban, then in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He'd thought he'd gone to his rescue, but it was Sirius who saved Harry, until he had fallen behind the veil, never to return…

And then, Dumbledore. Together they had gone to that cave to find the Horcrux. Together they had found out how to enter the morbid place. Together they fought the Inferi, even as Dumbledore was still weak from the sickening potion. And as they returned back from their excursion, there was the Dark Mark, emblazoned above the school, and together, they flew to the tower. But then…Harry was frozen helplessly as Malfoy entered the scene, hesitating to do what he had been attempting to accomplish all year, and Snape shortly came and finished the job. Only then could Harry act, but it was too late.

Harry could not shake the feeling that he had somehow let Dumbledore down, and, at the same time, that Dumbledore had let him down. It was this that troubled him more than anything – a mixture of grief and guilt, the hardest to live with. He now had to face Voldemort, and whatever else he met along the way, alone.

And then it hit him. He was not alone; in fact, he never had been. Who was it who had once said the dead never leave us? None other than Albus Dumbledore himself. And if that wasn't enough, Harry recalled what Hermione and Ron had told him just before the end of term; that they were coming with him. They were going to walk this darkened path ahead of him together, as a team, as they've always done before.

Strengthened by this, the tense knot in Harry's stomach that had been building up all the while seemed to lessen, as Uncle Vernon turned onto Privet Drive. He pulled up to number 4, the lawn meticulously mowed and trimmed, with the flowers in the garden, equally spaced from each other, in bloom. Vernon pulled in the driveway, turned off the ignition, and got out of the car, Petunia and Dudley following suit. Harry, however, remained sitting.

He stared at the home that had always been a prison to him, where he had been left by Dumbledore nearly sixteen years ago, to a life free of the troubles that were sure to come with his fame…and for his protection against Voldemort's vengeful followers. And then he remembered Dumbledore's conversation with the Dursleys the previous year, in which he said the magical protection of being in company of his only blood relative (Petunia) would lift on his seventeenth birthday. So this was the last time he would ever be here on Privet Drive…the last time he would be forced to the long, summer months with his Muggle relatives.

But this last stay, he knew, wouldn't be long, as he'd been invited to Ron's brother Bill's wedding, as well as a stay at the Weasley home, the Burrow. Then he would be off to Godric's Hallow, to the ruins of what was once his home, and to see his parents' graves. From there….Harry could not see where his journey would take him…the mysterious R.A.B. was in possession of the locket Horcrux, the one he and Dumbledore had gone for on the night he had died. His hand flew almost automatically to his pocket where the fake Horcrux rested, and Harry clenched it in his fist, stepping out of the car while doing so.

He set his eyes on the fading sunlight as the world around him became shrouded in darkness, the clouds having parted for the sake of the dying sun. So here he was, about to embark on his journey that would change the course of wizarding history…whether he succeeded…or failed…Harry felt a momentary pang of fear, of uncertainty at was to come, when he remembered the words of Hagrid shortly after Voldemort returned: "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does." And Harry knew that he was the one with the power to destroy Voldemort, to rid the world of his evil. It would take all the strength, all the courage he had, but Harry knew, somewhere inside of him, he would not fail.


End file.
